


The Boy Who Knows Your Name

by Ragga



Series: The World That Is Not Ours [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, How Do I Tag, M/M, Monsters are Real, Pre-Slash, Remember to check under your bed, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tags Are Hard, Worldbuilding, aka Claudia, and hide under your covers with your favourite childhood toy, that's what I do at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8952103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragga/pseuds/Ragga
Summary: Monsters don’t have hearts.Because they do not have hearts, they seek out those that have the largest ones and consume them. Monsters don’t understand the need for one. They don’t understand positive emotions, the feeling of kinship or the simple caring between a mother and her babe. They just hunger for something they feel is missing but cannot comprehend. They don’t understand the whys or hows but they know they need it all to exist.The monsters that live under children’s beds are real.One just needs to believe to see them.





	1. Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> So. This happened. I was overwhelmed by the positiveness of this corner of the fandom and wrote another part to my one shot and decided that, instead of adding to it as it works well alone, I'll just create a series and put it in as a second part. It goes deeper into this world I'm building and is a two-part. The first one is from Stiles' point of view and the other one will be from Peter's. I have now tons of ideas and ugh. My life just got a lot more difficult.
> 
> Just saying this now, I'm working on my Master's thesis right now, so I'm not going to be able to promise regular updates to this series. Still, I fell in love with it and do want to write more to it, so... We shall see where we end up at. Pretty much all my writing is stress relief at the moment :) Writing more to distract myself from writing, my life is a mess...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“Hi Peter!” Stiles chirped as he rushed in his room. He threw his backpack on the floor and jumped on the bed, eagerly watching as the blood red eyes followed his every move. “Guess what? I saw a salamander today! It was minding its own business downtown, just going by the library. I don’t know what it was doing in Beacon Hills of all places, I didn’t stop to ask. And it might’ve looked weird to people since they couldn’t see it. But even though no one saw it, they all automatically evaded it! It’s like they could feel the heat!” he gushed at the Wolf who continued to stare at him, snout a little open and teeth peeking out.

Despite his toy-like form, Peter looked dangerous and ready to pounce. He could see why his dad was so wary of him. Stiles imagined how it would go down. It could be quick, it could be slow. Peter could probably cut him in half with just a single bite, eat him with barely two. He could tear him to pieces bit by bit, take his time to digest Stiles in front of his very own eyes.

He beamed at the Wolf who in turn almost seemed to snarl at him.

His mom called him for dinner and Stiles scrambled up, taking the Wolf with him. He hugged him, feeling Peter’s fur brush against his cheek.

“Coming, mom!”

The mouth was closed when Stiles set Peter down at the dinner table where there already was a seat just for him, courtesy of Stiles’ mom.

It didn’t open for the rest of the day.

He grinned.

Safe for another day.

***

Monsters don’t have hearts.

It’s a fact of life that Stiles learnt before he could even walk. His mother whispered it to him as he first took in the world, sang it when he was still a babe and slept against her chest, and when he first laid his eyes on the shadows in the corners of his room.

Because they do not have hearts, they seek out those that have the largest ones and consume them, she told him.

Monsters don’t understand the need for one. They don’t understand positive emotions, the feeling of kinship or the simple caring between a mother and her babe.

They just hunger for something they feel is missing but cannot comprehend. They don’t understand the whys or hows but they know they need it all to exist.

***

“Isn’t it kind of sad that Jackson tries so hard but he still feels like he has to be better? That he has to justify that his parents made a good decision when they adopted him? I can almost feel the bottom of his issues he projects when he mopes!” Stiles turned to look at Peter when he paused from doing his 5th grade math. It was too easy, again. He wished he could just skip a grade or two to get to the more challenging stuff he played with anyway but then he would have to leave Scott behind. He couldn’t do that.

Stiles was met with a look that demanded an explanation. He laughed briefly.

“Yeah, Jackson’s adopted. No one knows what happened to his birth parents but he’s been an ass ever since he found out. I don’t know, it’s just weird. His parents, they love him more than anything, even though they aren’t even family by blood. Sometimes, I guess water _is_ thicker.”

The expression didn’t change but the air of disapproval and intrigue deepened. Stiles snorted.

“Didn’t you guess it already? What I am capable of?”

The Wolf was silent, just as he always was.

Stiles hummed and turned back to his problems, turned his back to _Peter_.

He felt Peter’s eyes on him the entire time but he also felt safe.

Later when he closed his own lights, tired of waiting for his dad to come home, he fell into his bed and snuggled his covers. He rested his drowsy eyes on Peter, always staringstaring _staring_ , for barely a second before he was pulled under.

Another day, safe.

***

His mom once kissed his head and said, “The monsters that live under children’s beds are real.”

One just needed to believe to see them.

Stiles did. He even lived with his own. They were a team, his monster and him. They were something that had no precedence as far as Stiles knew. Stiles didn’t tame him or anything, he’d like to say he did nothing. His monster disagreed. When Stiles would close his eyes, and fall into a dream so deep he was no longer a part of this world, Peter would outgrow his toy-like form and smother him, curl around him with his giant body of a wolf, and watch over him while he was at his most vulnerable.

And even in his sleep, Stiles would know his monster was right.

Because Stiles did the impossible.

His monster grew a heart.

And now, they will never be apart.

***

Children outgrow the monsters, spirits and the otherworldly. When they are still young, they can see the different shades in the world. Adults don’t see the same spectre as children do; they only see the shades of grey or sometimes just black and white. But kids, you see, they see all the colours the world has on offer and the magic that twines them together.

They see the wind spirits that dance in the air, the water sprites that call down the rain and the wood nymphs that live in their trees and whisper when you walk by them. They see the large dragons flying above the clouds, the unicorns that follow them around and the hippogriffs that chase each other in an endless competition to reach the end of the world.

They see the monsters more terrifying than the dark and the tax office.

Usually, around the time they start their school careers or sometimes even earlier, children lose their ability to comprehend the world as it is. They only see what they want to see, what the adults have deemed as the normality to hide behind. The unicorns become a myth, the nymphs are turned into dust and the monsters, well; they are still there. They are a reminder of the past that was and would never be again, of loss that they could only remember vaguely and fondly as children’s fable.

It’s easier to forget than to live in the world that makes others label you crazy. It’s better to go with the flow because then you get your house with the white picket fence, a dog and two point five kids of your own. You get to be ordinary and live a satisfactory life.

Because if you don’t, you risk getting noticed.

If you don’t, you’re going to be consumed and you won’t be able to live to see your graduation or even dream of it.

Stiles has always believed. His mom loved to tell him tales of wonders, pointed at the spirits and played with him in the rain when others took their children inside to learn what is ‘right’ and what is ‘not’, and always – _always_ – pointed at them, whispering, “Don’t be like her. Don’t play with her son. Don’t, don’t, don’t.” His mom never cared, and just laughed with the nymphs and flew with the dragons. The supernatural, unlike the monsters, didn’t really care much for the humanity. They were more connected to the nature so it even made sense. Humans, even Sparks, were often too removed from it for them to care about but Stiles’ mother was special. She had always been special.

She was the world’s eighth wonder.

She taught him not to care, to be himself, to live and love and laugh. She taught him to dream. She gave him her everything and he loved her for it.

She didn’t last either.

***

“Mom?” Stiles called, stumbling in from the front door. He had been playing outside with Peter since he came from school. First grade was just too easy. It was almost the same as kindergarten, except for more books. He and Lydia often sat together at the corner, reading more advanced texts than the rest of the class. Well, Lydia read. Stiles mostly sneaked looks at her.

Her silver hair was just so pretty.

“Mom?” he yelled again. Something crashed in the kitchen. Stiles peaked in.

His mother was panting on the floor, eyes blown wide and a hand stretched towards a corner. Every light had been lit even though it was still an early afternoon in the autumn. Her brown hair was thinning, Stiles noted absently, as he watched the shadows retreat back to where they came from. When there were none left, she turned to Stiles and Peter and smiled weakly.

“Hi, darling. How was your day?”

Stiles bobbed his head. “Fine. I started reading The Brothers Lionheart.”

“It’s a lovely book,” she said and tried to rise, only to fall down again. She lifted her hand when Stiles looked ready to rush over to help her. “Why don’t you go and play with Peter a little more? I’ll get dinner started before your father comes home.”

Stiles looked at her, glanced at the corner, and ran off.

A tendril of darkness had slithered out again and was curled around her leg like a chain.

He hugged Peter tight.

“I’m scared.”

He imagined a growl coming out of his Wolf’s mouth and warm affection burst out of him.

When he was close to falling asleep that night, to dream of a place beyond strife and terror where people could go after they die, he felt something surround him for the first time, carefully cradling him like he was something easily breakable and fragile; like he was something to handle with care.

Stiles just knew it was Peter.

***

Claudia glowed too brightly and her light was snuffed out by the lingering shadows while Stiles watched, unnoticed, protected.

He had been in kindergarten, just a little kid really, when he first met Peter. Like his mother, he could see those that were and those that weren’t. Unlike his mother, however, he had also another gift. Sparks like his mother rarely if ever lived to become parents. They were often found too soon for that to happen, and consumed as the most delicious delicacy the world had on offer. His mother, his lovely mother, had managed to evade the monsters long enough to let Stiles see the light of the world.

And Stiles did see. He saw more than anyone else.

He knew he didn’t seem like any other kid to the ‘mundane’ as he liked called them. Perhaps he was a bit too odd with the strangest habits, far too bright for his own good, and someone had even talked to his parents about ADHD or something like that, but that wasn’t all he was. Mundane never really liked him as they felt uncomfortable in his presence, like he knew something they didn’t.

And he did.

Unlike his mother, Stiles could feel the intentions of the people around him and what they felt most intently and thus projected loudly. For Scott, it was happiness. For Jackson, it was inadequacy. For Lydia, it was derision. For some reason, he also knew people’s names when he looked at them in their eyes. He had known Scott’s name the instant he sat next to him when Scott transferred to their kindergarten class. He had once even called a man his dad was arresting by his real name even though he had been using a false name and had caused him to spill everything because he thought the game was up.

It was funny because Stiles never used his own real name; he hadn’t used it since he learned how to say it but no one else ever did, except for his mom and his dad, even if he pronounced it ever so haltingly.

So, during the split second he had looked into Peter’s eyes, he had known he had met his doom. The Wolf, as it could be no other, was his. He had known the Wolf had come there to consume whatever Stiles had in him; his heart, body and soul. Peter had seen whom Claudia was – a Spark, a mother, the world class treat that anyone would be happy to just _take_.

Yet, Peter wasn’t just anyone, just any monster. The greed was his sin and pride his weapon. He wanted the Spark’s son, something unknown, a myth amongst even the supernatural. Later, Stiles would find out that by consuming him Peter would have been able to rise in ranks and take his place as one of the highest ranked monsters there were. He would have become respected and feared, something of his own legacy.

He had wanted a name for himself that didn’t start and end with ‘Hale’.

Even at the tender age of five, Stiles had known that he couldn’t escape. Peter wouldn’t have let him, not when he had him in his claws. What his mother had seen as a potential guardian spirit, Stiles had seen and recognised as part of his fate.

So, he did the next best thing.

He called him out.

He smiled, offered Peter the brightest grin a kindergartener could muster, and called him by his name.

Even years later Stiles could remember the astonishment which had flashed in those hungry red eyes, ready to devour him the moment his parents left them alone. Stiles had taken him to his chest, hugged him, placed him next to his heart. He had let Peter feel its beating, how strong it was, how strong it _could_ be.

As a child, he hadn’t meant more than just to show him he wasn’t afraid of him. He was the child of a Spark and burned even brighter than his mother.

“I am not afraid of you,” he had whispered and the Wolf had stared at him. The whole evening Stiles had felt those eyes at the back of his head, following him around. Stiles had even made that easy for him. He dragged Peter anywhere he went and showed him his back. It had been purely a child’s recklessness but it had lit an intrigue in the Wolf.

Stiles was not consumed that night.

He was not consumed the night after that either or any other night since then.

***

“Peter!” Stiles yelled and jumped on his bed, rolling until he came face to face with his Wolf. The eyes stared at him just as silent as always. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Come on, you could just admit how happy you’re that I’m here,” he teased and petted Peter’s fur. He had found him missing this morning when he woke up, his dad innocently whistling downstairs. Stiles had sighed then, knowing, that his dad had once again thrown Peter out. Last two times it had been in the trash but Stiles doubted it had been there again since his dad probably thought Stiles had gone and taken him back.

Stiles had been a little frantic those times as he hadn’t been able to find him; yet, in the end, it had been Peter who found his way back to Stiles. Only the smell of his fur had alerted Stiles of where he had been.

He had gained a good few laughs from teasing Peter about dumpster diving. The distain and derision that had coloured the Wolf had been hilarious. Stiles had, however, washed him and let him keep his pride and hadn’t used any floral type of shampoo that his dad still hadn’t had a heart to throw out.

Stiles smiled softly and kissed Peter’s forehead. He wrinkled his nose.

“You taste awful! Oh, that smell! What the heck have you been rolling in on?!”

The air around the room almost felt like fond.

***

Stiles didn’t bring Peter to his school. He wasn’t that stupid. Peter probably wouldn’t have been able to stay there for long anyway.

Stiles was the best of friends with a boy named Scott he had befriended a while ago. While most children their age could still somewhat see, and be distracted by the spirits and the monsters, Scott had never been able to see them. There was something in him that Stiles couldn’t understand that made Scott immune to the influence of the paranormal. Or, maybe ‘immune’ wasn’t the right word. They could still affect Scott but Scott, the little boy he was, had something that made them avoid him like plague so it was pretty much the same thing. While spirits didn’t care much for the mortals, they were still around them since they lived in the same world.

Scott was different.

Being friends with Scott was like living in a void.

It fascinated Stiles.

In a lesser sense, Stiles was also fascinated by a girl in their class, Lydia. While outward she was like any other child, just more intelligent than the others even then, there were flickers that made Stiles see her red hair and green eyes turn into flowing silver. Nothing followed her around either but unlike with Scott, the spirits and monsters didn’t run away from her. No, they were just staring at her warily as if she could explode any given moment.

So, no, Stiles didn’t bring Peter to school but he told him about it anyway.

***

Stiles was eight when his mother changed. Her pallor turned from sun-kissed to pale and her eyes watched as the shadows grew around her, licking her heels and leaving traces of themselves on her skin while she slept.

She started screaming.

“Get away from me!” she’d yell. “Go! Leave me alone, you fiend!”

She fought bravely against the shadows but with every burst of light, the shadows grew darker and her Spark weakened. She began to lose sight of days or things she knew or didn’t know. During all her episodes, Stiles watched and held Peter close to him.

None of the shadows approached him like he was branded.

One day when the shadows retreated for one final time, Claudia had turned to Stiles, her eyes wide and wild, and breathed out:

“I brought a monster under my roof and gave him my son. Get away from him!”

And with all her might, she pushed.

And with Peter, Stiles fell as well.

They were lucky. His dad had been home when Claudia threw them down the stairs and had been attracted by the commotion. It was the last thing Stiles saw of Claudia before he went to visit her at the hospital.

Some days she would look at them and know no one.

Other days she would see the Wolf in Stiles’ arms and start screaming.

His dad always took him away then, telling him that it wasn’t Claudia saying those things. Stiles knew and had agreed. No, it was the monster in her head, living in her skin. His dad had looked at him funny but nodded in agreement, leaving the details he thought he knew in the dark. Stiles had seen the papers read frontotemporal dementia but he _saw_ , unlike his dad.

Saying Claudia’s name, watching her soul deteriorate, he had known her Spark was going to be snuffled out soon.

***

One night when he was alone in the house while his- _Claudia_ was at the hospital and his dad at work, Stiles’ sorrow was too much for him to fall asleep.

“Peter, my- she’s going die,” he cried into his fur, hugged him tight. “It’s horrible! I hate it. I- I-”

He hiccupped.

“I don’t want the same to happen to me. I’m so scared, Peter.”

His tears stained Peter’s fur and he felt the Wolf’s form ripple and curl around him. He kept his eyes closed because he knew, _he knew_ , if he opened them the toy would be there, eternally watching, but the comfort would be lost.

“Promise me,” he sobbed. “When you finally take me, don’t destroy me like they did mom. Consume me whole and leave nothing behind for anyone to find. _Please_.”

Stiles thought he felt a tongue lick his cheeks, and wash his tears away. He finally exhausted himself in the early hours of the morning, crying himself into unconsciousness.

When his dad came to wake him up, his eyes were red and he had dark bags under them and he told him she was gone.

***

Stiles grew. From a precocious child to a gangly adolescent, he still stuck out like a sore thumb. His only friend was Scott, both outcasts – one with his strangeness and one with his asthma. In junior high school the hierarchy had hit them hard. Whereas they had been part of the rest of the kids in elementary school, just a bit on the side but still sharing the same sandbox, now they were in the outskirts and with no way out. He was alright with it as he still regularly went for walks in the preserve, whispering with the nymphs and playing with the spirits and sprites if they deemed him worthy enough.

His mother had been their favourite, not him.

Scott, however, took it harder. While him and Stiles were still best friends, and it was a bond that couldn’t be severed and neither of them wanted it to be, Stiles could see he desired acceptance and to be normal. Stiles wanted to tell him that he was the most normal person there was according to the standards of the world they lived in since he had never believed enough to see beyond his eyes. Sometimes Stiles wanted to ask him how that was possible, how he could have built such a resistance to the paranormal, but he kept quiet in the end. Maybe some people just were like that, Stiles didn’t know. Maybe Beacon Hills, a place Scott hadn’t been born in but had moved into, was special and the people here had closer ties to the supernatural.

But, from the school hierarchy, they were out, and they stayed out the whole junior high school. They weren’t the only ones excluded, however. There were other people too, like the epileptic girl, Erica (a beautiful, strong person trapped in a body much less so, filled with so much despair Stiles hurt just by looking at her); the quiet boy, Vernon (lonely, sorrowful, sister lost to a monster he no longer could see and whom he thus was unable to save); and Isaac who had lately turned into a shell of his former self, falling from the grace like an angel betrayed (griefhatemiseryhatelove _hate_ ).

Yet, even those on top of the chain weren’t without their problems either so Stiles didn’t have the heart to blame them for being as they were. There was Jackson who hid resentment and fear of abandonment inside him, searching for acceptance everywhere and endlessly, and then also Lydia with her red-silver hair even more pronounced the older she got, just as her resentment, and the chains around her ankles grew heavier with every step she took.

Stiles told Peter of it all. Despite having never seen his other forms – and Stiles knew he could change into a large wolf, he had felt him, and perhaps a more humanoid form too (he had felt someone pet him lately, during the nights he knew his dad wasn’t home) –  and despite that he had never heard his voice, he knew he could trust Peter.

Even knowing that his fate was in Peter’s hands, he knew he could trust him.

He would never be safe, but with Peter, despite knowing he would one day be consumed whole and nothing would be left behind, he almost felt like he was.

And safety was a commodity that was hard to come by for someone like him.

***

“Peter,” Stiles whispered just as he was falling asleep. “I love you.”

That night, a howl reverberated in his dreams and he just knew it had been Peter.

***

High school changed a lot of things.

During the sophomore year, Scott found himself a girlfriend. Her name was Allison, and she adored him and he her. They were the perfect couple and would be voted as the ‘Couple of the Year’ probably every year from then on, Stiles thought. Allison had been quickly drawn into the popular crowd too, with both Lydia and Jackson vying for her attention, and she had taken Scott with him. Stiles had come as a tagalong too, and suddenly, they were on top of the food chain. Scott’s asthma was still there but now it was just another trait of his and not a defective vice to be avoided. Stiles, however… He was still too weird to fit right. He knew them from inside out, years of proximity and feeling their intentions and projections making it easy as breathing. By now he could tell if they were honest or not and he was never unafraid to voice it, garnering himself plenty of enemies. His instincts, insights and regular zoning outs made him stand out and apart from the crowd.

He didn’t mind, not really.

Stiles watched as Scott spent more and more time with Allison, so taken with her and his newfound popularity that he couldn’t handle everything on his plate. Each time Stiles was slighted, he just smiled and didn’t hold Scott back. He let him be free.

He wasn’t lonely.

Really.

He was just seeing whether Scott would return or not, whether their friendship had been meant to be or if it had been just forced by circumstances.

Stiles spent more and more time in the preserve and listening to the wind. He was becoming even more adept at it. He could now hear them whispering about a tragedy and a mistake made, doubled up by fear and hate. It was a story that was never finished but always ended with them crying about the veilveilveil-

When Stiles asked them to finish, they were already gone.

“Scott’s leaving me,” Stiles whispered one night to Peter. He petted the toy form of his, staring at the ceiling. “I’m going numb, I think. I’m just really glad you’re here, Peter. Dad’s still grieving, just me being here never lets him forget her and close the open wound, and with Scott gone, you’re all I have left.”

He rolled around and stared into the red eyes of his Wolf. They glowed with intelligence and an emotion that made shivers run down Stiles’ back.

“You’re mine,” he whispered and the eyes flashed. The look in Peter’s eyes deepened.

That night, just before he fell into the dreamland, he felt the bed dip and someone lay down next to him, holding him close. Stiles just snuggled into the chest deeper, smiling softly.

Some days he thought that being consumed by Peter wouldn’t be too bad.

***

“I think someone’s following me,” Stiles sat on a large tree stump in the middle of the preserve. This time he had taken Peter with him and just wandered around until he found what was left of the tree. It was weird. The place was silent. No supernatural came near it and even Peter seemed tense. Stiles kicked the air and laid down on it. The void felt similar to Scott’s presence. It was comforting to him.

There was something weird about the place but it felt more sorrowful than dangerous.

“I’ve been suffering of cold breezes where there was no wind before. I was almost hit by a lightning the last time it rained. I almost even caught fire in the chemistry lab the other day. The worst are the shadows. They are following me, just like they did mom before. For some reason, though, they don’t really feel the same. The intent isn’t quite… right.”

Stiles watched the sky grow cloudier. It would rain soon enough.

He felt the Wolf vibrate in his arms.

“Am I finally going crazy?” he whispered. _Like mom, was his time ending, was he finally going to join her in Nangijala_ , he thought but didn’t voice. Peter would understand. He always did.

The vibrations turned more violent and there was an echo of a snarl. Stiles took that as a no.

Somewhere close by the thunder rumbled. Stiles closed his eyes and felt a nudge. He was enveloped in warmth.

When he walked home after the storm ended, he was dry.

***

Stiles found himself looking at the blood red eyes of a hulking beast of a Wolf, and he didn’t feel afraid. Stiles watched as Peter – because it couldn’t be anyone else – lowered his head but didn’t break his eye contact. With a trembling hand, he pressed his hand against Peter’s snout. The Wolf snorted and Stiles could see him telling him to hurry up. Stiles moved against him, hands pressing Peter’s impossibly strong form and explored. He was gorgeous. His colour was a rich brown with so many shades that it would’ve made the autumn leaves jealous. His eyes, still red, were clear and like jewels. His legs were long and ready to pounce, not a thing amiss. Peter, he was…

He looked like an enormous wolf but he was no monster.

Stiles blinked and lost himself in the redred _red_. Peter poked him with his snout, a question clear in his eyes.

He nodded.

Stiles held out his hand and watched as Peter’s bones cracked as they broke and formed anew into a different shape. Soon he was watching a handsome man ( _naked_ , oh gosh) with blue eyes that looked like they could stare into Stiles’ soul. He was about Stiles’ height but far more muscular and older.

Settled.

Peter grasped Stiles hand and held it close to him, pressing it against his chest.

It was moving. It was pounding. It was warm. It was-

It was beating.

Stiles gasped softly and his eyes widened in wonder. He raised his other hand to brush against Peter’s cheek and the man, his Wolf, leaned against the slight touch.

“Dear heart,” Peter called him and Stiles froze, dizzy with incredibility and eyes filled with tears.

He had met his fate and had accepted it when he was barely five years old. Now, thirteen years later, he wanted to do nothing more than to face the future with his monster (no, no longer a monster, a wolf, just a wolf) by his side.

“Let’s destroy the world,” he said, he swore, and Peter answered it with a feral grin of his own.

 


	2. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I had time to write. Woops. And I felt very inspired after seeing the response to the previous chapter :)
> 
> Thank you all, you're the best!

Peter stared the sleeping human child. His brown eyes were closed and he was in that state of vulnerability Peter never had really understood. Why would the humans ever decide to subject themselves to something this ridiculous? Rest was fine on its own, yes, but hours upon hours? Never sleeping light enough to sense the coming threat? Peter edged closer to the child. His hair was soft and his skin was littered with those weird marks he had seen on humans before. He was breathing slow and deep, wandering in the fields of dreams, resting too peacefully when, in fact, a far superior predator was right next to him, ready take him down and consume heart, body and soul.

Why were humans so useless? Had they no concept of danger?

Peter just couldn’t understand.

He had been hunting around the small town, looking for something to snack on. Little towns away from cities were usually gold mines for creatures like Peter, and this one seemed like not many monsters had found it yet, or at least it wasn’t part of their usual hunting grounds. It had a strange air around it, Peter noted almost absently, even if he couldn’t find a reason for it. It didn’t deter him, though, and there were plenty of supernatural creatures around; those that filled the air, that found their place on the ground and that made the waters their kingdom, even if all of them strayed from Peter, recognising him as the danger that was, is and will be. He didn’t care much for the rest of the paranormal as they never filled him as well as all those human children whom he had scared so well and left to face their lives with trauma that soured their scents so nicely. They had always screamed so prettily for him and their fright had tasted so sweet when Peter had taken that feeling of safety from them and the way they laughed so innocently. He loved to stay and watch as they woke up to a new day with a heavy feeling in their chests which would never truly leave, and find their minds forever closed to miracles.

He stretched, displaying his huge body for all to see but no one to notice, and searched for a target which would satisfy his desires today. Peter was proud of his form, its size huge and nightmarish. His fur was shaggy and the perfect colour to blend in with, even in broad daylight, hiding him from those he wanted to stay hidden from. His eyes, red as they were, woke fear even in the stubbornest child or monster. His teeth were sharp and could cut a grown human in half. His gait was long and he stalked his prey with precision they never expected from him with his limbs taking on a disfigured look. They weren’t useless even if his prey always thought they were, that they could outrun him which was just the most _ridiculous_ idea there was.

There was no escaping someone of Peter’s skill.

Peter had been hunting longer than humans lived and he would continue to do so for many generations more. He was wily as they come and too intelligent for all the dull-minded around him. He would laugh at those that tried to end him, and tear them apart slowly and painfully, limb from limb, in front of their very eyes while they still breathed.

Alas, today turned out to be very different from his usual hunt. He had been following around this promising looking child, so young and sweet and easy to drink his fill from with its bright laugh and smile, and that heart filled with so much Peter had _salivated_ when he had seen a Spark.

_A Spark._

Peter had instantly forgotten what he had been doing and just stared. The Spark was a human female with the brightest heart Peter had ever seen. Its eyes were following the air spirits around it and they were actually following _it_.  It was so distracted by them that if it had been alone, Peter could have just taken it then and there and no one could have stopped him.

How had it managed to survive this long, smelling so tempting?

The Spark and its companion, a human male, entered a store. Peter slowly followed them, fascinated. What were they looking for? Would the male leave the female alone and let Peter take it? Consuming the Spark would certainly spring Peter to greatness. He would no longer be just one of the Hales, even less the spare who had been pushed to the side because the mainline had heirs of its own. Never would Peter reach greatness within the clan. He would always remain on the edges, waiting, starving, being mocked and looked down on-

Just like Talia always wanted.

Peter snarled and silently stalked the human pair around. The Spark, while bright, didn’t seem to be too _bright_ , if you got what he meant. The air spirits were waving their little arms and pointing at Peter but the Spark only laughed and spun around with the male. It seemed to feel very safe for some reason. Peter opened his mouth and showcased his teeth at the spirits who flinched and disappeared into thin air, ran away from the threat, and Peter laughed at their missing loyalty to anything but their own hide.

The Spark blinked a bit, no longer distracted, but didn’t seem to think much of being left alone with the male. They were looking around at these weird, little soft miniatures Peter had seen lying around in human children’s rooms. Toys, the female was calling them. Toys for something called… Stiles?

Peter blinked and frowned.

What the hell was a Stiles?

He listened in on their conversation before his eyes opened wide both literally and figuratively. A child. They were talking about a child. A human child. A _Spark’s_ child. Peter had never heard of such a thing. He had recognised the female as a very strong Spark, one that had actually grown into its power, far more than those fledglings Peter had heard others boast devouring about, but he hadn’t realised…

A Spark’s child.

How delicious would that be? It could be the thing to finally change Peter’s existence into an actual life. He could become an equal to the monsters like Talia or Ennis or even _Deucalion_. He could start his own clan maybe, or at least gain a seat in the council. He could be where he actually _belonged_.

He wanted that child. He _needed_ that child.

There was no question that the child was his.

He jumped on a table nearby and shrunk himself into a miniature version of himself and waited, letting his aura somewhat free and fill the store. Peter watched as the supernatural quickly left with a hurry as the danger he emitted settled in the air. He was sure the Spark could sense him now and find him.

Those with the Spark always were attracted to the supernatural, even to monsters that were no good for them but who they couldn’t really differentiate from the rest.

Peter was right. Not minute later he had settled down was the female standing before him. It was staring at him with wide brown eyes that reflected light in the most interesting ways. He stared back. Slowly, as if it was afraid of him being just a dream – what a _nightmare_ – it moved its arms until it was almost touching him.

And then it did.

It snatched him up and looked deep into his eyes. The female turned him around, touched his fur and, moment by moment, its eyes were lighting up more and more with something. Peter took in the Spark’s scent and he nearly salivated again. It just smelled so good, it would fill Peter’s belly just right, he just wanted to have a little taste of its power-

“What do you have there, love?” a voice came behind the female and Peter stopped himself just in time from leaning forward. The Spark turned around so fast it sent Peter’s head spinning. He stared at the male. It looked even less impressive up close. It wasn’t that old but it was already gaining grey hairs, he noted. It was also frowning, brows creating wrinkles, even if it was in a relatively good shape. It was- it was so _ordinary_ compared to the Spark next to it that Peter felt it shouldn’t even be able to stand being next to either the Spark or _him_. He wanted to just snort and leave the male behind but no dice.

“Look at it!” the Spark gushed. “Look at its face, look at its body! It’s _perfect_!”

I am rather dashing, Peter thought smugly and preened at the praise. The male looked doubtful, however, which, well-

It was just a boring specimen amongst others and Peter could care less about its opinion.

“Claudia, I’m not really sold on that. Are you sure Stiles wouldn’t appreciate a more, um, a gift he could show off to his friends?” the male tried. “Maybe a nice car or, hey, a superhero figure! He has been going on about Batman for-“

The Spark huffed, cutting it off. “I don’t see why he couldn’t show off this one either. It’s something any kid would be happy to get.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes! I told you, it’s perfect!”

The male still tried, much to Peter’s amusement. “Darling, are you absolutely-”

“ _Darling_ ,” the Spark bit out and Peter just knew the game was over. His eyes flashed with glee and he could feel the anticipation rise in him. “Stiles is going to _love_ him!”

They were going to take him to the Spark’s offspring and he would be elevated above all of them.

He couldn’t _wait_.

***

Peter could be still and wait for the Spark and its companion to open the door to their rather quant little house. Another female opened the door for them from the inside and let them in, prattling about something while the Spark showed him off. He couldn’t care less even if he took pleasure in the forced smile the female gave him. When they had stepped out from the contraception the humans called a car, Peter could sense it, an aura – a heart – even brighter than the Spark’s.

It was there, inside, just waiting for Peter to sink his teeth in its flesh and completely consume its literal heart. No one really knew what made Sparks so delicious to the monsters. Every time they devoured one, they gained the Spark’s power as their own. Ordinary children, no, they were just for them to scare and snack on – to help make sure they were going to keep existing – while waiting for the treats that were those that never stopped seeing the supernatural. Sparks were rare. Only one in a million ever really turned into a true Spark. Those that did were found before they could ever mature enough to make a real difference to the monsters. None ever cared to cultivate a Spark because it was more likely that someone else would take notice of it and steal it from under their noses.

A Spark meant power, a fulfilment that no one could explain, and Peter had almost fallen into that trap too.

Not now, though.

Now, he could sense the most tantalising scent of them all coming from the house. He idly wondered how it had managed to remain unnoticed too, especially since its mother was burning almost as brightly. Together, they were a lighthouse in a stormy night, the full moon in the otherwise empty sky; a beacon beckoning for the monsters to come closer and _closer_ until-

The other female finally left and the Spark and its companion moved inside and shut the door behind them. The scent was even better there because it was saturated in the air around them. This, this place was something Peter had been waiting for, a true paradise.

“Stiles!” the Spark called and Peter could hear thumping as the source of the scent came closer and closer. He was practically shaking with anticipation. Nothing, not even the Spark, had ever smelled this wonderful, this fulfilling that Peter-

The Spark’s child appeared at the foot of the stairs and Peter stared.

It didn’t look that special, all in all. In fact, it screamed prey to Peter – so small and defenceless. Mediocre size for a child, not even the age yet where human children could be divided into Sparks and non-Sparks. Its hair was the same brown as the Spark’s and its eyes-

They had a shine to them that matched none of its parents.

It stared back at him but there was something in that stare that gave Peter a pause. It was intelligent in a way none of the children Peter had ever encountered and scared half to death had been. It was as if it could see-

Peter was handed to the Spark’s child and his fur was raised with the electricity the touch elicited. The child looked at him and smiled, the biggest smile Peter had ever seen on a child’s face, especially directed at him.

Not that the latter amounted to much, mind you.

“Nice to meet you,” the child breathed out and the aura around it turned into pure mischievousness. There was a reckless glint in its eyes when he continued by calling him, “Peter.”

Peter froze.

What?

What had the child just called him?

How could he-

_What_?

“Peter! That’s such a nice name,” the Spark knelt next to the child and beamed. The child grinned back.

“That’s his name! Peter!”

He hadn’t heard wrong. The child had called him by his name.

Peter couldn’t comprehend how the child had known that. Names were, well, they were not sacred but no one called someone by their name, chosen or given, unless that someone was infamous enough to warrant it. A name was a monster’s title. No one ‘knows’ anyone’s name – even if they may know of it, for example within a clan – until they have it told to them by the monster themselves or by the never dying rumours.

Calling someone by their name was both the greatest compliment and the greatest insult.

And Peter certainly hadn’t told it to anyone. Not even his clan called him by his name, having never earned that right from him and never daring to insult him as such unless they wanted to face his wrath.

The _audacity_ …!

The child raised Peter until he was pressed against the child. He could hear, he could _feel_ , its heart beating. It was fast like a hummingbird’s and so light but also so strong. It was so strong and smelled so good Peter could have just _ripped it off the child’s chest the moment its parents had turned their backs on them and-_

“I’m not afraid of you,” the child whispered and Peter froze again.

Come again? Not afraid of _him_? Everyone was afraid of him, even _Talia_ was afraid of him, that’s why he had been on such a short leash his whole life and-

There had been no lie in that statement.

The child grinned at him and carried him off to the kitchen. It never left him alone. Not once. The whole evening the child pressed itself against Peter and teased him with its scent and presence. It even showed him its back, the only part it couldn’t guard, but Peter felt no fear coming from it. Its parents were also ever present. Either the Spark or the male or both, the child and Peter were never alone. He barely listened to the inane things the child spoke of or the games the Spark and her offspring played with his toy-like form. He didn’t note whatever was happening outside the house, if anything was, when usually he would have been much more alert.

He only watched the child and tried to understand it but he couldn’t.

And he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t.

The night came and the Spark tucked the child under the covers. Peter had been set to watch over him beside his head and he did look on as the Spark sang little songs and tickled the child who was turning sleepier and sleepier.

“Sleep well, my little one,” the Spark whispered. It even dared to touch Peter’s head and petted him. The child giggled slightly when he saw. Peter wanted to huff indignantly. “And you, the big bad wolf, protect my dearest while he slumbers and frolics in the fields of dreams.”

“Peter will beat all the monsters!” the child exclaimed, shocking Peter (he will what?), and yawned.

“Yes, he will,” the Spark said and kissed his forehead. It switched off the lights before it closed the door, and the child burrowed deep into his blankets. He gave one last sleepy smile at Peter, just as non-afraid as before, before falling asleep right next to the most dangerous predator he had ever met in his short life.

Peter watched.

And he watched.

And he watched until the first rays of morning light peaked through the curtains and the child awoke to another day, dragging Peter to breakfast with him.

To this day, Peter didn’t know what made him spare his life that fateful night. He only knew of his inner turmoil and how there had been something in the child – in _Stiles_ – that stopped him from devouring him whole and leaving the town immediately afterwards to pursue a position amongst the most terrifying and powerful of them all. Something in him had acknowledged the child and thought of him, if not equal just yet, then something more than just a mere child amongst the millions of others.

Perhaps he convinced himself that if he just let the child mature a little bit more, he would also gain even more power. Perhaps he was just curious and told himself he would eat his heart the night after. Perhaps he was just waiting to instil the fear into the child before consuming him with the most delicious touch of terror.

That day, however, never came.

And Peter – past, present and future – would never be able to tell anyone why that was.

***

Years passed and the child grew. His power grew with him. He glowed brighter than anything Peter had ever seen and he knew he would only grow from that. The Spark, on the other hand, was fading. Peter had seen the shadows follow her around and slowly, bit by bit, eat her heart. He suspected that in a few months there would be nothing left but an empty husk of a body and a grieving family.

That wasn’t what worried Peter though; no, that part belonged to the fact that the shadows belonged to Deucalion.

And where Deucalion was, Talia wasn’t far behind.

Peter did the only thing he could think of.

He hid the child’s aura within his presence and passed himself off as having just found the Spark too. He played the hyena that followed behind the apex predator and waited for scraps or to steal the kill. No longer could anyone see or feel the child, even within his own home, when Peter was around. If Deucalion hadn’t guarded the Spark so jealously and had left her side for barely a moment, he might have noticed the fourth person living in the house apart from Peter, the Spark and the Spark’s companion. He might’ve seen the child go to school and snatched him from there even if the child had the void child as his friend, unknowingly helping Peter hide his presence.

But Deucalion didn’t because he thought Peter would steal the Spark from him if he did.

Peter wasn’t sure if he was proud of his distraction tactics or bewildered by the sheer _need_ he felt for such countermeasures. There was an urge to protect the child and it didn’t mean to just keep him safe until he was ready to be devoured. It annoyed Peter because he couldn’t understand why he felt so compelled to do so and why, lately, he had thought of-

No.

The child was just waiting to be consumed.

Nothing more.

Peter couldn’t allow it if he wanted to rise from his sister’s shadow.

Yet, just a few weeks after he had sworn – yet again – to fill his stomach with the delicious heart of the child, the boy in question threw more spanners in the works.

He admitted he was _scared_.

For _his mother_.

The same boy who told Peter he wasn’t afraid of him, and had never been since then of Peter or anything or anyone, had admitted to Peter that he was scared because of _Deucalion_. Peter bristled.

The boy was _his_ ; not Deucalion’s, _his_. His to scare, his to cultivate, his to consume-

His, his, _his_.

When the boy fell asleep that night Peter shed his useless form he was supposed to don only for one little day – but it had been months and years since he had been back to the other side of the Veil – and he had used his large, disfigured body of a wolf to curl around the boy and destroy all that were trying to make him afraid.

Because it was no one else’s job put Peter’s.

This boy was claimed.

He opened his mouth to snarl at the fluttering dustmen who sensed grief and misery and stress and were ready to bestow nightmares upon nightmares on those susceptible to all kinds of negativity. They scattered under his glowing red gaze.

Peter’s growl reverberated around the room, warning all those still lingering around to stay away, and had Deucalion not been busy with draining the Spark dry he probably would have sensed something was wrong.

But he didn’t.

And Peter watched.

***

Soon came the last time the Spark was able to fight off Deucalion. It was already weak and close to shattering and Peter could see how fragile it had been in the end. It was nothing like its son who was strong and silent in all the ways that counted in the face of a threat. Peter knew that the boy would have lasted even longer than his mother did. He had, after all, recognised Peter as the dangerous being that he was and not just another spirit like his mother had.

But it seemed that Deucalion’s presence had finally opened the Spark’s eyes since it looked at Peter with eyes filled with so much hatred it made its Spark _burn_. Peter grinned with delight and all teeth and the Spark _screamed_. It screamed how it had given a monster its son, and yes, _yes_ , it had, it _had_ , how did it feel, Spark, to know your son is now _mine all mine you are never getting him back because he is mine to take and devour and you can do nothing-_

It pushed them, child and monster, down the stairs.

Had the Spark’s companion not been in the house, it might have been that the Spark would have stolen the child from Peter but it was and it _didn’t_. He watched on victoriously as the Spark raved and raged about how he was going to kill its son and it and how everything was lost and it could do nothing and-

The boy ran away to hide behind a couch, taking Peter with him, and with a backward glance Peter saw the shadows rise behind the Spark for once last time as the companion took it away. He saw Deucalion grin in dark glee – eyes meeting Peter’s to gloat – as he swallowed the Spark whole, cutting off her screams and her strings, and would never let go again until all its heart held in it was gone.

The night the Spark finally died, it was because of Deucalion the boy cried. Again. Peter couldn’t stand it. He took on his larger form and surrounded the boy and he licked his tears – they tasted _wonderful_ and so _sad_ but _why_ did they feel so _wrong_? – and then the boy-

“Promise me,” he begged and Peter could barely hear him through the noise of the boy’s sobbing, “When you finally take me, don’t destroy me like they did mom. Consume me whole and leave nothing behind for anyone to find.

“ _Please_.”

Peter felt something move inside him slightly and he wanted to flee from the feeling but he stayed. He stayed, and he washed the tears – wrong, so wrong, why do they taste like ash? – away until the boy finally exhausted himself.

He knew Deucalion would brag about his catch for all who would hear him and they would look on in jealousy and laugh at Peter’s plight at being, again, too little too late.

He had won a few more years of obscurity for the boy to grow and to be cultivated to-

To cons-

Peter blinked and watched the little boy breathe deep and clutch at his fur, tear stains and grimace making him look both older and younger than his few years.

He didn’t know when it happened but now that the boy finally acknowledged that Peter would one day be his end, he didn’t want to be. How could this be? What had the boy done to him? How?

_Why_?

Peter felt more lost than he ever had in his long, long existence.

Yet, he still watched and guarded the boy’s sleep.

***

Years passed and, gradually, the boy turned to Stiles in Peter’s mind. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest grew day by day and every time Stiles’ father threw his toy-like form out in places increasingly further away and more and more obscure, he found his way back Stiles’ side. He would be absolutely filthy and disgusting in all standards that even monsters would wrinkle their noses but Stiles would only look at him, hug him in his desperation to not feel so alone, and wash him until he was good as new.

The boy told him everything. He told him about school, about the void boy and the silver-red girl and everyone else. He told him about the preserve and even took Peter with him sometimes. During those times, they were usually avoided but that didn’t seem to matter to Stiles. From how he spoke of his days and adventures, Peter realised that as a Spark’s offspring, Stiles wasn’t just able to see and interact with the supernatural and monsters but he was also able to feel the intensions of those around him. No wonder he had realised Peter’s desire for his heart so early on.

It still didn’t explain how he had known Peter’s name because it hadn’t been a guess. Stiles had known it as well as his own or his parents’. Stiles, it seemed, didn’t know the reason for it either but it kept Peter wondering, late at night, when he wasn’t busy dispersing the lingering threats and running off the dustmen.

Sparks were special in human standards.

Monsters were special in supernatural standards.

What if they were the same? What if there was nothing to separate them? What if they could interact with each other without one being subjected to instant death? What if the Veil wasn’t in place?

What if more of them were like Stiles and Peter?

What if- what if the world actually let them be just Stiles and Peter?

In a moment of clarity, he realised that he truly would never be able to consume Stiles as he had intended years ago, and that he- he _cared_ about the boy and _something shattered inside of Peter_ and he gasped. He choked on the air and clawed at his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t take in _air and he was being cut off and he didn’t know how to fix it._ Something was breaking inside him and he didn’t- he wasn’t- he-

He-!

He didn’t know how long the pain had gone on but, nearing the end, Peter was writhing on the floor and staring at the ceiling. He felt dizzy and disoriented but, shakily, he stood up. His muscles cramped and he heaved heavily, gasping. Blood fell on the floor. He had reverted to his humanoid form and he could, almost, be mistaken as another human being if not for his slightly glowing blue eyes, sharper than normal teeth and nails he could wish into claws any moment he wanted. He stared at his hands before shakily pressing them against his chest.

There was something thumping against his ribcage.

A heart.

He had a heart.

Monsters, they don’t have hearts.

It’s a fact of life Peter had known for years and years and _years_ but now he has one and he had no idea what to do with that knowledge. He formed the picture of his monster form in his mind and felt the change happen. It felt smoother than before and it didn’t hurt. His bones didn’t crack the way they used to and the pain that followed was no more. His ears twitched and he stared at himself and, in the corner, Peter in the mirror stared back.

His fur was no longer a muddy colour of nothing but a brown of many shades. While his teeth were still sharp and his eyes were still red, there was no shine of madness and senseless greed in them that had once coloured them truly bloody. His legs, they were no longer disfigured and his gait was straight and strong. He was still a hulking monstrosity by any and all standards but-

Just in size, and not really looks anymore.

He could still scare humans, he thought, but never with the same effortlessness again.

Silently and with stealth he had never possessed, he jumped on the bed softly and ushered Stiles to sleep against the wall. The boy moved, groaning in his sleep, but didn’t awaken. He never did, not when Peter was there to look after him. He changed back to his human form and, gently, reached to brush the boy’s hair. Stiles leaned against him and Peter felt his lips twitch into something one might call a smile but felt foreign on his face.

It was strange but… it didn’t feel bad.

Yeah, it didn’t feel bad at all.

***

One night, Peter was guarding Stiles’ sleep again after having cleared tons of dustmen creeping around, waiting, because it was the Spa- Stiles’ mother’s death anniversary. The grief had soured the air around the boy but Peter had made sure none of it affected his dreams. After all, his days were tormenting enough with high school and with sometimes there, sometimes not father, and Peter did have a soft spot for the boy. Having a heart was still new to him so he couldn’t tell what he was feeling but when he felt his heart stutter lightly at the thought of Stiles being in pain, well…

You couldn’t really misinterpret it.

He grazed Stiles’ cheek with his claws and the boy took hold of his hand to nuzzle it. Peter didn’t mind. Stiles was surprisingly – or not, considering how little contact he got – tactile for a human. Suddenly, Peter straightened and felt more alert than in years.

Something was coming.

No, that’s not right. _Someone_ was coming, and it spelt nothing good for either Peter or Stiles.

Peter waited, his back stiff, and then he felt the whispers of the wind take a shape behind his back.

Ah. Laura.

“You have been missing, uncle,” she said. Peter could feel the sneer in her voice and how she despised him. It was how her mother had taught the rest of the mainline Hales to treat him – a threat to their position. He couldn’t really fault Talia for that, if only because he might have, would have, done the same in her position.

But now, that hate felt like a threat and Peter had never done well being threatened.

“Go away,” he said instead of clawing her apart like all his senses screamed at him. “You have no place in here.”

“Mother has been looking for you.”

“She has no place here either.”

And how true that was. Even from there, Peter could sense how _cold_ Laura was, how empty, and he couldn’t even imagine how much colder and emptier Talia would feel. Peter marvelled how much a difference a heart could make, one that wasn’t forcefully taken but instead _gained_. Unlike before, he felt complete in a way he had never felt; not when he had been scaring children and feasting on their emotions he had lacked, and not when he had been with the others of his kind. But Laura and the Hales, they were still there. They were part of all that.

And he wasn’t, Peter realised. Because he had done the impossible.

He was a monster with a heart.

All because of-

Laura tried to touch him. He stopped her and felt his claws dig into her skin. All his senses screamed ‘threat’ and, finally, Laura realised she was not welcome even if it should have been obvious from the start.

“Leave,” he said again. It was no request but a demand. She had to go before he would tear her apart right then and there.

Laura scoffed. Peter could feel her gaze burn.

“You left the family for what? This kid? What does he have that the Hales do not?”

Laura’s wrist snapped under his grip. Stiles had everything the Hales didn’t. He was still saturated in Peter’s aura that Laura didn’t even realise what the treasure in front of her was. Stiles frowned in his sleep, shuffled closer to Peter and hugged the hand in his grip, pressing it over his beating heart.

Peter felt his own heart beat with his.

Laura gasped. “Does he…? Did he capture…?”

Peter snorted but didn’t really answer. What did she think Stiles could have done or taken from him? Blackmail? His name? His _heart_ he wasn’t supposed to have? He would let her think what she wanted to if she would just-

“Leave.”

“Uncle.”

“ _Leave_!”

Laura stood back and Peter just knew she tried to look threatening. “Mother will hear about this. She’ll come and end your suffering!” she said, and disappeared. Peter snorted again.

Let Talia come. He’ll crush her just the same.

He was no longer stuck beneath her thumb, and never again would be.

Peter felt Stiles wake up and turned back to his toy-like form Stiles still held dear. Stiles looked around his room, finding nothing amiss as he should, and smiled that smile at Peter sleepily, kissed his forehead and whispered, “I love you, Peter.”

His heart stuttered and his breathe hitched when Stiles fell back asleep and when the shadows tried to take form in the bedroom, Peter tore them apart with extreme prejudice and howled into the night of full moon.

Love.

He finally knew the name of what kept him there.

***

Peter knew Stiles was being stalked long before Stiles himself did. He recognised Laura’s winds, Cora’s storms and Derek’s fires, and he stomped on all their attempts at hurting someone he considered dear to him. He started following Stiles around and forced them to retreat and recoup. They tried to catch Peter alone but he was never too far from Stiles not to be able to run interference. Laura tried to manipulate him with Talia, Cora with derision and mockery and Derek, well, he was just along for the ride for apathy was his other name.

They couldn’t sway him although they couldn’t understand why and, had they have come ten years ago, they might have managed to take him back.

But that was a decade ago, and Peter was no longer the same monster they knew.

Stiles brought Peter to this place in the middle of the preserve one of those days when the void boy had abandoned him and his father wouldn’t be home. There was a tree stump there and-

It felt like the Veil.

Peter’s eyes widened as he took in the place. He shook. He couldn’t really hear what Stiles was saying as memories of long past rushed through him. He couldn’t- why- somethingsomethingfiresilverdruidfoxsilverdruiddruiddruidlossgoneVeilVeilVeilVeil-

He shook and snarled, fought as the memories faded as quick as they had come and left his grasp like the smallest grains of sand, and heard Cora gather her storms again. He curled around and above Stiles to guard him but he doubted even Cora could find this place.

After all…

None of them had found it since they had cut down the Nemeton and brought up the Veil; they hadn’t even known – remembered – it _existed_. Peter clung to the memory, unwilling to let it go, for if he had he was sure it would never return.

No wonder Stiles’ mother and Stiles had been able to hide so well in this quaint little town.

As he held Stiles close and let the rain wash over him, he closed his eyes and let himself dream of those that were gone and would never be again. He felt something sting his eyes.

He wanted to destroy this world and let it burn down to cinders, right here and right now, because he knew, he knew _they will never let us be-_

***

Peter stood in front of Stiles. He was standing there in his huge wolf form, and watched as Stiles took him in for the first time. The boy wasn’t scared of Peter, and so Peter bared his teeth in something resembling a grin. Stiles never was. He let him explore his body before he slowly took on his human skin. He watched in amusement as Stiles’ eyes widened and averted in full blush. Peter had nothing to be ashamed off and he was amused to see Stiles thought so too.

Peter took Stiles’ hand on his own and pressed it against his chest, letting Stiles feel his heart beating the same as his.

The look of wonder and pure happiness in Stiles’ face seemed to make everything brighter than they might have originally been. Stiles brushed his other hand against his cheek and Peter couldn’t help leaning to it, wanted more of the touch.

“Dear heart,” he said, called Stiles by the name, because that’s what he was.

He was Peter’s heart, the reason he had one.

And now that he had it – _him_ – Peter wasn’t about to give it – _him_ – up.

“Let’s destroy the world,” Stiles said. His eyes were serious even if slightly confused by how vehemently he swore that, maybe he didn’t even know why, and Peter, he grinned, as their hearts danced with the same rhythm and beat in sync.

_Yes._

***

_for you_

_I solemnly swear myself to and I will never leave you for as long as_

_the breath lives within my body and_

_my soul remains on these planes of existence and_

_my heart beats for you_

_you will never find yourself wanting or alone_

_not again not anymore_

_so_

_mote it be_

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Peter.
> 
> I hope the changing pronouns weren't too confusing. They were meant to reflect Peter's character development. He still has a lot to learn but at least he has Stiles, am I right? :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think! I'd love to know :D


End file.
